


An Ode to Baby

by Idreamofhazel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean and his girlf- er I mean car, Gen, Impala Feels, poetic word vomit, the importance of baby
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-15
Updated: 2017-04-15
Packaged: 2018-10-19 05:47:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10633509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Idreamofhazel/pseuds/Idreamofhazel





	

The smooth of the leather under his calloused fingers, the cool metal handle and the homey creak of the door hinges, the hum of the air conditioning and the satisfying rumble of the exhaust, the stereo playing his favorite albums, the soft-enough cushion of the seats for travel and sleep, the empty back bench perfect for wrappers, weapons, and friends, the memories etched into metal, soaked into upholstery threads, seen in the rearview mirror, the rides alone and the rides with a dimple-cheeked brother, laughing and sipping god-knows-what drink, rambling on about something academic, his voice filling the empty space in Dean’s heart, the sheen of the hood in daylight, the sleek of the body in moonlight, the familiarity of every detail brought to his memory, running his hands across her form, the head-turner, the attention-getter, the car that no FBI agent would actually be allowed to drive

The way she took care of them, the perfect getaway, the racing speed, the limits he knew so well, the way she shone as a beacon as they ran from monsters, the deep intake of breath as he fell into the seat and turned the key in the ignition, danger disappearing in the rearview mirror, the place to keep all their tools, to hide their life of violence, the one who could never judge, but held every secret, every death, every mistake, every nightmare, quietly in the trunk 

The only constant in his life, the one place he called home, his safety, his hobby, his love poured into one inanimate object, an object that was loved more than any other in the universe, the wrecks, the screeching tires and crunching metal, blood on glass, on leather, the mountain of work to rehabilitate her, the time he spent that wasn’t wasted, busy work that meant something, work that kept his mind focused and pain at bay, work that pulled him through grief and fear, the nights in her backseat tangled with someone else, fog on windows, breath on cheeks, fonder memories balancing out the nightmares, the perfect space for two, the space that was simultaneously a bed, a kitchen, a living room, a bedroom, and sometimes a car

His favorite pastime, black rubber against black asphalt, signs and trees and fields racing by, music setting the scene, the wind whipping through his short hair, air rushing across his scalp, no one else in the front seat, just he and she together, cruising, breaking speed limits, taking in the scenery, clearing his head, sunshine reflected off the hood, the lean of his body in tight turns, gas pedal down, back against the seat, freedom and peace, the only place where his possibilities were open, any road, any turn, any city, any state, she could take him there

The most significant object in his life, a car for the ages, a home until he died, a ride until he passed into the next life, a friend until he left this world, more than a car, more than a classic, more than transportation, more than a home, more than a family heirloom, an object that saved people, that carried two heroes through their adventures, a hero in her own right, her own place in the universe, a symbol of selflessness and a relic of legends

Baby


End file.
